“I heard you laughing over here,” I tell them.
“Yeah, because something was funny,” the texting girl says. “That’s usually what happens when one hears a joke. Are you the library police, here to slap us with a no-laughing fine?”
I spread the books faceup on the table. “Are any of you familiar with these books?”
“Excuse me?” Texting Girl says.
“Can any of you explain them?” I ask.
Another girl—with her hair in braids, just like Clara, the forest girl from the Wishy Water Well—glances up from her textbook. “They look like books to me.”
The texting girl uses her phone to shield her lips, so I can’t see what she’s mouthing. Moments later, another girl comes and takes her seat at the head of the table. Her baseball cap—with the college’s wolverine logo—partially obstructs her face, so I don’t notice right away …
“OMG!” she shouts, noticing me too.
It’s Jessie, from Emo, from the sorority mixer. From her social media post about my desire to be famous. I can still picture the accompanying photo: a snapshot of me doing a silly pageant wave, hamming it up for the camera at Emo’s annual spelling bee.
“Do you guys know Terra?” she asks the others. “Remember that story last year, at the Theta Epsilon house? Terra is the one. So famous.”
I can’t quite tell: Is she being sarcastic? Is she happy to see me? Her enthusiastic tone doesn’t match her words.
“You go here now?” I ask her.
“Well, yeah.” Her eyes bulge. “It seemed like a no-brainer. I mean, my sister still lives in the sorority house, so I can basically stay with her whenever I want to crash. The real surprise: I’m studying psychology. I know, right?” She laughs. “Coming from Emo and all … I figure I already have a lot of experience—literally. But how about you? Are you a student here too?”
“I work here. Part-time. Shelving, returns, and stuff.”
“Okay, that makes more sense. Because I heard you went back in.”
Back in, as in locked up. I bite my lip.
“I’m really sorry,” she keeps on going. “Totally rough. But onward and upward, right?”
I bite harder as if that will make this all go away, transport me someplace else.
“Terra?” Someone touches my shoulder from behind.
My insides jump. I turn to look.
Katherine’s there. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I was just…” I go to take a breath; the words are caught in my throat. The air feels trapped in my lungs. I collect the books into a single stack: one, two, three.
“Is something wrong?” She gazes at the cover of the Hayberry Park book: a dirt trail that cuts through the woods.
“Do you know why these books were on the reshelving cart?” I ask her.
Her eyebrows dart upward. “Besides the obvious reason?”
“Did you see anyone with them?”
“I see you with them.”
“Right, but do you know who took them out last?”
“Come,” she says, leading me away, back into the stacks. “What’s going on?”
“These books,” I begin. “All together … they tell a story—my story, what happened to me.”
Katherine takes another look, putting her glasses on. “I don’t understand.”
“All together,” I repeat. “The well, the park, the collection of fairy tales…”
“I thought all of that well business didn’t happen.” She removes her glasses, meeting my eyes again. “You think someone’s playing a joke?”
“Maybe.” I swallow hard, desperate to get away.
“Have you considered the possibility that an environmental science student is doing a project on water and waste systems? Or that someone studying English is writing a paper on the evolution of fairy tales? And perhaps a student in Professor Jameson’s local history class is researching the park.”
“Maybe,” I repeat.
“Look, I just shelved a biography of Justin Bieber, a baby name book, and a copy of At Your Cervix. But you know what? It doesn’t put a Belieber in my belly.”
“Excuse me?”
“If you’re going to work in a library, you’re going to see all sorts of research going on, including topics that hit close to home. Believe me, when my aunt was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, it seemed every title I touched had to do with memory and neuroscience.”
“Okay, but that’s not this.”
“It is, in fact. The books are talking to you. It’s an old librarian’s expression. Now, why don’t you do us both a favor and microwave some popcorn. I’ll be down in a few, and we can check out the new movie releases.”
While she heads off to the copy room, I make a beeline for the bathroom and lock myself in a stall. I breathe here—in and out—sitting on the toilet, with the books stacked in my lap. My phone vibrates. A reminder to take my meds. I log on to Jane instead.
JA Admin: Welcome, NightTerra. Remember the rules: no judgments, no swearing, no inappropriate remarks. This is a safe space for honesty and support.
Paylee22: Too funny!! I mean, seriously?! A ladle?
TulipPrincess: Lol!!
Paylee22: Hey, NightTerra!
NightTerra: I’m so glad to find you on here.
Paylee22: Is everything ok?
Paylee22:???
RainyDayFever: What’s going on?
NightTerra: I’m at work …
NightTerra: And it’s filled with triggers.
TulipPrincess: A.k.a. demons.
Paylee22: What kind of triggers?
NightTerra: Books that reminded me of what happened six months ago. The titles, I mean …
RainyDayFever:???
NightTerra: They were on the return cart. Three titles that reminded me of everything I went through—about the park and the well … There was also a collection of fairy tales.
NightTerra: I’m trying really hard to hold it all together …
NightTerra: But I feel like I’m coming apart.
NightTerra: I just never know what to think.
NightTerra: Or who to trust, including myself.
NightTerra: Am I just reading into everything, making connections that aren’t really there?
Paylee22: I agree. It’s def hard.
NightTerra: Sometimes I feel like I’m my own worst enemy.
Paylee22: I feel like that too. Believe me. Just remember you’re not alone.
TulipPrincess: You have us!
RainyDayFever: You also have ice cream and doughnuts. Lol.
NightTerra: I should probably go. My boss is going to be looking for me.
Paylee22: You sure you’re ok to go back???
RainyDayFever: Can you go home early? Just say you don’t feel good.
NightTerra: I think I’ll be ok.
Paylee22: Terra, I’m worried
